The LDS meeting that fit best into our schedule ended up being one totally conducted in Portuguese. Which was just fine. An hour-and-fifteen of our neurons being challenged is always welcome. While sitting there I looked over at The Boy's bulging pockets and leaned over to tell him that he's handy to have on a trip.
Not only does he have that trusty rubber band around his wrist, which has come in handy (remember: The Great Tick Capture of '13), but in his pockets he had his camera and camera cleaning cloth, four pence, a map of the London Underground system, and a Kendal Mint Cake.
After church we went next door to the Victoria & Albert Museum -- a favorite. First order of business was eating lunch. We were lucky and found a table big enough for all of us in the William Morris dining room.
The dining rooms were built in the 1860's "intended as a showpiece of modern design, craftsmanship, and manufacturing," and they formed the first museum restaurant in the world. The Morris room was WM's first public commission.
Equally as important as seeing Morris's work was to get the millionaire bar -- my friend and I had one of the best ones ever -- there at the V&A -- a few years ago... But alas, the recipe has changed (didn't seem at all home-made -- more "manufacturing" and less "craftsmanship"), but that shortbread, caramel, chocolate combo was still worth it.
Note, The Boy opted not to get the millionaire, but instead to get the "Bowie" -- a brownie with a couple of consonants missing by way of PR for the David Bowie exhibit currently going on (he hasn't been quite as omnipresent as Beatrix Potter on this trip, but he's been popping up). As David Bowie fans we were super excited when we heard about the exhibit a while back... so we were sad to hear that tickets were sold out for months (boo!), but then thrilled to find out that they do a limited amount of same-day tickets, and we got the last family ticket (woohoo!). But before any of that happened, we had some things to do.
Namely, design our own album covers (the museum provided the kiddos a kit with cool papers from the V&A collection, double-sided stickies, colored pencils, etc):
And, cut their own songs. We went into a classroom equipped with iPads and Garageband, and after some brief explanations the kids were cut loose to create their own songs. Later in his career David Bowie -- believing in the idea of chance, and that meaningful lyrics can come via associations that he might not naturally have in the course of a day -- would either cut up written down phrases, and then rearrange them randomly, or enter words/sentences/phrases into a computer program that would randomly order them. Because of this, there were boxes of cut up lyrics on the table that the kids could choose from to create a song. Both kids, and our teenager, did a great job creating instrumental songs. When it came time to add the optional lyrics I figured that only The Boy would actually do it (he makes up songs all day long), so I was very impressed that The Girl was willing to give it a shot. And, true to form, she following the rules (using her lyrics randomly generated from the box), and The Boy did what he wanted (made up a song about chickens). The Sister coerced The Dad into chanting some lyrics for her song. Everybody was a good sport, and it was really fun.
The Girl's song
The Boy's song
The Sister's song (with The Dad as guest "singer")
As we still had some time until we were allowed entry to David Bowie land, we checked out some items of interest in the museum.
Designer Joris Laarman's Bone Chair, which "mimics the way that growing bones are able to generate additional material where it is needed, but also to remove material where it is superfluous."
Tipu's Tiger: an 18th century life-size automaton that had a pipe-organ where his organs should be that would make growls (tiger's) and groans (victim's).
We haven't had our Beatrix Potter reference for a while... As a frequent visitor to the V&A, she saw some 18th century clothes in a case and received permission to spend some time with some of the fabrics. She detailed them so closely that it's possible to tell the exact items she used for the illustrations in The Tailor of Gloucester.
And then the time came for us to get our headsets (they had a GPS chip, so we didn't key-in anything, as we walked through the exhibit songs would start, or clips of Bowie talking would kick in, or if you stood in front of one of the many screens it would immediately sync so you could hear what was happening on the screen).
David Bowie (actually David Jones, but he didn't want to be confused with the other David Jones singing at the time, so he took his stage name from the Bowie knife) started off not too keen on school, but wanting to do something with music. He was one more kid cranky about living in the burbs. He looked like any other kid at the time. It took him quite a while to break into the music scene. And then he did. And as the exhibit highlighted, his influence can be seen in a gajillion different ways.
The exhibit itself is remarkable. An enormous -- two story at least -- screen at the end playing his videos, works of art (i.e. an artist did this thing with grains of rice -- one grain for every baby born in 1948 -- and one of those babies was David Bowie), his costumes (The Boy was sad that pictures weren't allowed as there was a particular baby-blue leather suit that he was crazy about), screens with the movies he was in playing, interviews, etc. Of course, some of the material was more-mature. Sometimes I just moved the children along, and other times we took the time to talk through things. At one time as I was explaining that David Bowie had made some poor choices, and he was trying to change that path I said: Timshel, and the kids nodded.
Two Bowie treasures: 1. He was curious and willing to work really hard. He spoke of early influences -- books, jazz performers, etc. He said that he often didn't know what he was learning, but he knew that it was important to keep taking in stuff, and that eventually a thread would emerge, and his identity would become more cohesive. It reminded me of what our friend said at The Boy's birthday party: that there was a theme -- The Boy. 2. David Bowie said that he wasn't convinced that all human endeavor is progress. Ha!lle!lu!jah! When I say that people smirk at me -- like I'm being provincial. Well, well, well. I cannot think of anybody LESS provincial than my friend David.
By the time we were done we were mentally, even emotionally worn out, but the evening was fine, so we decided to walk the three-ish miles back to our hotel via the parks.
We stopped in Hyde Park by the Serpentine to have dinner outside at the cafe tables. The Lido Pavillion was built in 1930, as sunbathing facilities, but now it's a cafe -- that serves pasta with hair. True story: The Girl found a very obvious piece of hair in her pasta. The Dad was slightly put out about it, but agreed that she should get a replacement, so went back inside to take care of it. While he was in there, The Boy found a very obvious piece of hair. Now. What do you do with that? Do I say, No, you have to eat it anyway because you were unfortunate enough to find it second, and really, it's only socially acceptable to return one meal? When The Boy returned from giving his pasta to The Dad, to replace, he said: "Be prepared for a cranky dad." We all started busting up (for the record: The Dad did not return at all cranky).
Though converted from it's original use as sunbathing facilities, it is still a memorial to the son of the man who donated the funds:
We went to another memorial: Princess Diana's Memorial Fountain. The children walked around it, but we still had too far to go to our hotel (and it was a bit chilly), so nobody waded in it. It's so clear and sensory oriented (the pieces on the bottom have several different textures) that the kids talked about it for quite awhile as we walked on. They want to build a similar water feature someday if we ever have a backyard. I overhead The Boy telling The Girl that bags of cement are only about three dollars, so they should be able to make the whole thing pretty inexpensively.
We stopped by the Peter Pan statue -- which is so cool because Barry had it installed in the middle of the night so it was seem as if it was magicked into being.
And we cut through the Italian Gardens -- which seem as if they were also magicked into being.
We found a random dirt patch that had a dozen or so little brown bunnies. We stopped to watch them for a bit, and when The Girl asked me to take a picture a squirrel photo-bombed. We couldn't stop laughing, as we are pretty sure that the squirrels are bitter because we don't idolize them like the other tourists do.
And before finishing our grand walking tour we passed a memorial/public art that had the word: Antipodes. And boy, did we feel awesome.
Saturday morning started off interesting enough. Our gaggle traipsed into a sketchy neighborhood to drop off our laundry at a questionable facility. There are times in this life when you just have avert your eyes.
That done, we went through St. James's Park to watch the practice for the Horse Guard parade that was to happen later.
St. James's Park was full of new birds for us to gawk at. While we thrilled at calico and patchwork ducks, and other winged beauties, we noticed that the bulk of other tourists were much more interested in the squirrels. If there was a group of tourists with cameras we knew that a squirrel would be the focus. To each their own. I'll just say this -- for a couple of hundred years there has been a cottage for the resident bird keeper. Diversity of waterfowl is a large part of the history of St. James's. There is no squirrel keeper cottage.
The gardens in St. James's were originally redesigned by John Nash (he was the architect/landscaper known for renovations to Brighton Royal Pavilion and Buckingham Palace, as well as designing the buildings around Regent's Park, etc.). His style was to contour, rather than adhere to rigidity. Because of this, in some guidebooks it says that St. James's is the most beautiful of all urban parks. The man, and his contours:
The Sister is an appreciative, but not enthusiastic birder. Her interest was more in the changing of the guard, and so to Buckingham palace we went. Unfortunately, because of that Horse Guard parade business the area in front of the palace was barricaded off, and though we patiently watched for a while, there didn't seem to be the regularly scheduled guard-changing.
After a bit we decided to get on with our main activity for the day: Portobello Road in Notting Hill.
It was a bloody madhouse. I've been twice before, but never has it been such a crushing crowd. It was particularly difficult with two kids in tow (one of which wants to open a museum someday, so he kept hearing various sirens' songs that would lure him away... causing our entire group to try an about-face against the swarm of humanity and then huddle around him, while being jostled and pinched, until he got all the information he wanted... this did lead to funny conversations throughout the trip: i.e. after passing a window display at a home supply shop: Would you rather have a steam cleaner or a taxidermy pheasant? What? They both cost one-hundred pounds... which one would you choose?).
We held our own and fought to get our fair share of street-food carbs, as well as a few treasures:
Awesome book given as a reward for punctual and regular attendance!
This guy's arm moves!
'Tis true that some of the little toys are most likely lead... so that led to a big debacle of proper hand washing before eating... and then there was a debacle at the smoothie stand... No point in going in to all the gory details, but let's leave it at this: self-inflicted hair pulling is part of traveling as a family -- at least for this family.
We saw George Orwell's place of residence:
And yes, we saw the blue door from the movie Notting Hill. We refrained from joining the queue to take a picture of it. Though, The Boy was game (the kids get a kick out of Spike; in fact, I think one of the soldiers bought at the market, and for sure the little rabbit have been named Spike). I'm not proud that my kids have seen the film (we did skip some parts if that makes us seem less terrible), but as this is documenting family history, I don't want to fudge.
From Notting Hill Gate I took the tube back to the hotel to catch up on this blog/journal (so totally struggling to keep up... and yet, I fear that if I don't make the attempt so much will be lost), while The Dad, The Sister, and the moppets went to the Diana Memorial Playground in Kensington Gardens. There is a keeper at the gate counting kids, so they had to queue until enough kids emptied out -- a playground that teaches kids about the replacement theory. The offspring enjoyed clearing all the sand out of the alligator's mouth (only to have it filled again by a sassy Brit kid) and playing in the teepees. The more playground play the better -- one cannot live off of car-travel and museums alone.
For our evening plans we decided that a very London thing to do is attend the longest running play in the world: Agatha Christie's "Mousetrap" (the best part is the end, when the audience is sworn to secrecy regarding who-done-it). It's a bit slow-moving at times, so we felt that the kids wouldn't love it, and certainly didn't need to be up so late.
The Sister and I went and hunted out some tickets, and then grabbed some Subway sandwiches which we ate in front of a bookstore window as we kind-of-sort-of looked at the coffee table books being sold at reduced prices. The play was as charming as I remembered, though I couldn't hear it as well as I used to be able to... Creeeeak. (Did you hear that? Not a murderer entering the room -- just my body.)
While walking home we passed one of those street performers I mentioned: guy with a guitar singing/playing cover songs. In retrospect I wish that we had stayed longer to enjoy him, but we were tired and chilly, so we moved along.
I love what The Dad did with the kids. They went to Gabriel's Wharf and had a pasta dinner -- at an outside table. It happened to be right by where the scene from Love Actually was filmed when that darling kid tells Liam Neeson's character that he's been acting strangely because he's in love. Clearly, the best chance we have to help our kids grow up strong and healthy is to keep an open relationship with them, so I'm happy that the kids have a special memory with just their dad. I hope that they will always feel close enough to both of us -- collectively and individually -- to share what is in their hearts and minds. Relationships happen because of a parade of shared moments... As Rowan Atkinson's character says in the move: "'Tis but the work of a moment." (And back off: the Love Actually DVD we have is actually a clean-up/edited version... Consequently, it's about an hour shorter than the original film... We might let our kids watch smutty movies -- but only if the actors have British accents... like I said before, when London calls: we answer.)
London. Has changed. The sketchy neighborhood where I spent a summer fourteen years ago is now trendy. A hotel that we stayed at eleven years ago that was then, recently repurposed and lovely (it had been beautiful government offices on the south bank) sits under the monstrous all-seeing eye with that blue light doing what it was illuminated to do -- luring eclipse after eclipse of moths -- consequently the hotel has guested so many thousands of those moths it sends off subtle waves of weariness. In fact, much of London seems so. The throngs of people no longer seem exciting and purposeful, but rather antsy. Perhaps it's just that my city-threshold has already been met by daily living, and so the unique loveliness of the Lake District, and village-y Wales, and the Cotswolds steeped us so deeply in charm, that London seems... less-charming.
Friday morning The Dad took The Sister, The Boy, and The Girl to the Tower of London. Having been two or three times before I begged off to do my duties as family historian. What the group reported:
The Sister -- The White Tower was home to the queens and kings for 500 years before it was converted (few buildings have been both royal home and prison -- a blurred line that happened again as kings and queens became prisoners); the king of Norway gifted to Henry III both a polar bear and it's keeper (which is quirky); ten legal executions occurred, but the rest were considered "murders."
The Girl -- The ravens were shiny; not just heads were cut off, but people were also stretched (which was scary).
The Boy -- The orb is beautiful -- small with colorful details; the scavenger's daughter was a machine that made blood come out of your ears.
Ah. So a nice balance of the beautiful and the horrible. I would say that they got the full Tower of London experience.
Once we were reunited we set off for Oxford Circus. There are a lot of banners and extra flags out for the coronation anniversary. Ha, and I see now that there's a mormon "advert" on the side of that bus. I really wish the PR department would knock it off with the cheesy Everyman pictures.
The Dad took the kids to Hamley's while I took The Sister to see the beauty of Liberty for a bit. It's so civilized -- the beautiful wood carving, fresh flowers greeting you in the entrance, a sweet memorial for the Liberty staff who died during the war (war: not civilized, obviously).
When we went to the toy store, Hamley's, to meet up with the fam it was crazy -- not at all civilized. It's loud, and not just packed to the gills with toys, but also candy, and demonstrations of flying things that whirl past your head... And for all that, the kids seemed calm and happy in the fray. When we travel we buy the children one item, anything else they buy with their own money that they've saved from birthdays or chores. It was from within this froth of madness that the children picked out their items -- The Girl, a stuffed horse she has named Amber, and The Boy a plastic Loch Ness Monster thing he has named Chesapeake. We did meet the queen and her corgi -- made out of Legos (note: I just told the kids to turn profile, I'm not sure why they thought it funny to feign surprise).
From there we walked to Covent Garden for an outside dinner. Sometimes the street performers are a hit, and other times a miss. I'm finding that the best ones are usually the guys with their guitars singing cover songs -- but they usually don't come out until after dark.
Being as we had ourselves some golden tickets, we then headed over to the West End to see the new musical, "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory". It was cute, with a few clever tricks, but I don't think it will go down as a favorite for anybody.
By the time we got to our seats my quads were screaming. It is the most enormous theatre, so our tickets were even worse than we thought. When there are binoculars in front of every seat you know it's time to bust out the inhaler. I'm just surprised that they think people in the cheap tix will be willing to put forth the one-pound required to release them from the pincers. We splurged.
Walking home was fun. Inasmuch as I hate how the London Eye distracts from parliament, it is impressive in its own right. And inasmuch as our hotel has that whiff of tiredness, it's still pretty. I guess that while we might let a ring or two go by, when London calls, we are a family that always answers.
